The first primrose was out, tentative and only half unfurled, under a stone
wall in the shelter of Halldale’s steep west-facing flank. I knelt in the
remains of a snowdrift to catch a sniff of that delicate lemony hint of
spring, but the little flower’s scent glands were still deep-frozen.

It looked as if winter’s grasp would not be relenting any time soon. Still,
the brave little flare of colour in the still grey morning brought a smile
as I slithered on down the